Act of Contrition
by ILoveToChin25
Summary: Post-War, AU. Harry has a finely developed sense of justice, and of what people deserve. But, as he soon finds out, nothing is quite that simple.


Act One:

"_You have a beautiful, beautiful smile_

_The way it cuts and collapses on your lips_

_And when you touch me I shake like a child_

_It's late, I'm afraid you might leave"_

_-Bright Eyes_

Harry nearly left him as he was – lying on the ground, twitching spastically from whatever curse had been thrown at him – but a voice in his head which sounded suspiciously like Dumbledore gave him pause, and with a sigh of resignation he came to a halt in front of the prone figure. Nudging him with the toe of his shoe, he felt something like satisfaction when he was answered by a pained moan, coupled by an intense hatred which had never fully abated since the night he'd watched Dumbledore tumble off the Astronomy Tower.

"I should just leave you here, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, rolling Draco onto his back. His eyes were squeezed shut, but Harry wasn't fooled for an instant, and he gave Draco a sharp jab in the ribs.

"I know you can hear me."

Draco's eyelids fluttered open, his grey eyes shuttered and unfocused.

"Then just leave me," came the raspy reply. The pale, pointy features pinched tightly with pain at each word, and upon conclusion, the eyelids fell shut again.

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Your chance to die in _his _service and all that rot…too bad none of your Death Eater buddies cared enough about you to even come back for you. They all just left you here to die, you know that?"

Draco exhaled sharply, his eyes still closed. "Do you expect me to be thankful? Well, I'm not. So fuck off."

"Not a chance," Harry said cheerfully, and without another word, hoisted Draco's shaking body over his shoulder, a weightless charm aiding his movements. Draco struggled weakly against him, but Harry held him easily, and it wasn't long before he hung with limp dejectedness over Harry's shoulder.

"Where are you taking me?" said Draco, his voice muffled and suspiciously raw sounding.

"Nowhere you should concern yourself with."

"I have rights, you know," Draco said in a small voice. "I deserve a trial, for one thing."

"Oh, you want to talk about rights, do you," Harry asked angrily, resisting a sudden impulse to drop Draco's injured body on the ground. "You know who else had rights, Malfoy? How about Bill Weasley, for one. He's permanently scarred because of you. Or, oh, Madame Rosmerta. Did you ask her about her rights before using the Imperius Curse on her for an entire year?"

Draco mumbled some inaudible reply, then his entire body shuddered. For an insane moment Harry thought that perhaps his speech had gotten to him and Draco was sobbing with remorse, but then realized that he was convulsing from the curse he'd received. Of course, he thought, it had been silly to have thought otherwise. Draco wasn't capable of feeling sorry for anyone but himself.

Cursing under his breath, he lowered Draco to the ground. He couldn't let him die, after all. Draco continued to seize for several minutes, then, much to Harry's disgust, vomited on Harry's shoes.

Harry gave a sickened yell, quickly using his wand to expel the vomit. Draco hardly seemed to notice; he gave a shuddered sigh and pulled his knees up against his chest, a small whimper escaping unheeded from his lips.

"What the hell were you hit with?" Harry asked, pushing back the pity which had suddenly crept, unbidden, into his chest.

"Don't know," Draco mumbled. "My Aunt Bella…" he shook again and then promptly passed out.

Harry had never trusted himself with Side-Along Apparition, but he used it that night. It was stupid, he decided, bringing Draco back with him, when all logic and common-sense would dictate that he turn him over to the proper authorities. Harry tried to tell himself he was doing it to garner whatever information he possibly could; but another part of him, a part so deeply suppressed he hardly knew it was there, wanted to keep Draco at his mercy, wanted to see the look on that proud, haughty face when he realized Harry had the upper hand.

"Awake, I see," Harry said coldly, watching as Draco took in his surroundings. His eyes widened with something like fear, and he struggled fruitlessly against his invisible bonds, finally sagging with defeat against the wall.

"What do you want?" asked Draco dully.

"That's not a very nice way to speak to someone who just saved your life, you know."

Draco's grey eyes blazed with hatred, his mouth forming into a sneer. "Fuck you, Potter. Fuck you. If I ever get free, I'll kill you. I swear I will."

Harry laughed. "You don't have the balls, Malfoy. You're all talk and you know it."

Draco gulped, leaning weakly back into the wall. "Just tell me what you want."

"First tell me thank you."

"Fuck you."

Harry shrugged. "Have it your way, then." He rose to his feet, not missing the sudden look of panic on Draco's face.

"Where are you going?" he asked in barely concealed alarm.

"Hmm, haven't really decided that yet. I was thinking I might go see Ron and Hermione for awhile. Maybe I'll even stay the night. It gets pretty dull here all by myself, you know."

"You wouldn't," Draco said weakly. "You can't just leave me here."

"Oh, I'll be back, don't worry about it."

Harry actually had no intention of leaving Grimmauld Place, but there was no need to tell Draco that. Better to let him sit there in panic, finally feeling what he'd made others feel over the years. Taking a moment to relish the look of utter horror on Draco's face, he promptly left the room.

Harry took his time before going back to his bedroom, where he'd left Draco immobilized against the wall. A couple of hours later, after reading downstairs had grown too boring, he made his way back into the room.

The first thing Harry was aware of, upon stepping back into the now-darkening room, was the acrid stench of vomit, and he nearly took a step back. Draco sat where he'd left him, vomit clinging around his mouth and in front of his clothes, tears rolling silently down his dirty face.

A small, very small part of Harry was nearly glad to see him this way; humiliated, defeated. After all, he probably deserved it. But Harry quickly pushed these thoughts away, feeling frankly disgusted with himself. He was better than this. So what if Draco would have done the same to him – it didn't even matter. What mattered was that Harry had always thought himself as more moral, more forthright than Draco, and yet here he was, proving himself no better.

Draco made a small sound at Harry's approach, sniffling slightly.

"Thank you," he said, his voice cracking. "Thank you. Thank you. What else do you want me to say?"

"Nothing," Harry said, feeling sick. He accioed a wet washcloth, and without a word, wiped the caked mess off Draco's face, appalled to find that some had managed to cling to his hair.

"Can you stand?" asked Harry, undoing the bonds. Draco nodded, rising shakily to his feet. He immediately began to pitch forward, and Harry caught him reflexively, holding him weakly against him. Draco didn't even protest, leaning his head against Harry's shoulder with dull acceptance.

Harry paraded him gently into the bathroom, sitting him on the closed toilet seat.

"Drink slowly," he commanded softly, bringing a glass of water to Draco's lips. Draco did so, grimacing slightly at the motion.

"I'll be right back," he said reassuringly. He quickly rummaged through his clothes, finding a shirt that would likely fit Draco.

"Wake up," he said softly, finding Draco nodding off where he'd left him. "I'm sorry. You can sleep soon, I promise." Feeling awkward, he tugged Draco's shirt upwards, as Draco halfheartedly assisted him. Finally, the shirt came off, causing static to ripple through Draco's pale hair.

Draco didn't move, sitting half-naked on Harry's toilet seat. Harry gulped, seeing that he was riddled with scars – small ones, straight ones, jagged ones – culminating, of course, into the worst scar of all, the one Harry himself had given him. Whatever Draco was within the Death Eater ranks, he certainly wasn't valued very highly.

Something else which did not escape his notice was Draco's left forearm, which was bare as the day he'd been born. Harry frowned. Not a Death Eater, then? Then what was he doing with the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange?

Coaxing Draco to lean his head forward, he did a quick shampooing spell, threading his fingers carefully through Draco's hair. Draco made a small murmur of pleasure, and Harry took his time in kneading his scalp. Almost reluctantly, he rinsed and dried the hair, taking a small amount of satisfaction as Draco's hair emerged like a white-blond halo.

Pulling the clean shirt over Draco's head, Harry then helped him to his feet once again, and without a second thought, helped him onto his bed. He collapsed heavily, not even moving as Harry pulled off his shoes and draped the blankets over him.

"Thank you," Draco said again, yet this time the words didn't burn at Harry.

"You're welcome," he said quietly, watching with a thoughtful frown as Draco's breaths quickened into slumber.

Harry's attempt to keep guard of some sort over Draco proved fruitless, as an indefinite amount of hours later he woke stiff-necked and scratchy-eyed in his armchair, and Draco had still to move. Suddenly too tired to care, he crawled tentatively beside Draco, taking care not to rouse him.

"Potter?" Draco asked scratchily, startling him.

"Yeah, it's me. Is this okay? That I sleep here, I mean." Never mind that it was Harry's bed – Harry's house, for that matter – and that Draco was supposed to be his prisoner; for some reason, he felt he owed him that much.

"You're calling the shots, Potter," Draco mumbled sleepily.

"Right." Harry took care to maintain a distance between them, and despite his misgivings, fell asleep quickly, Draco's body heat radiating warmth throughout him.

* * *

"Potter, wake up!" An arm shook him, none too gently, and he scowled instantly as Draco's blurry face came into focus.

"What?" Harry snapped, replacing his glasses on his face.

Draco had the nerve to smirk, leaning back against the headboard as if he belonged there. "I suppose getting my wand back is out of the question?" he drawled.

"Your guess would be right."

The smug look on Draco's face dissipated for an instant. "You never answered my question last night."

"What?"

"What do you want?"

Harry scowled. "I told you before, Malfoy. You shouldn't talk that way to someone who just saved your life."

"Oh, am I supposed to be grateful? Grateful that you left me tied up in my own sick for hours on end?"

"You probably deserved it," Harry snapped.

"You have no idea what I deserve, Potter," he muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means fuck off." Draco's eyes shut, and for a moment Harry thought he'd fallen asleep.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked tentatively, shaking his shoulder.

"What?"

Harry bit his lip. "Are you…you know…okay?"

"What do you care?" Draco asked flatly. "If you insist on keeping me here, the least you can do is not force your company on me every second of the day."

"Fine," Harry snapped, throwing his feet over the edge of the bed. "I'll leave you, then. I remember how much you liked it before." He stood to his feet, watching as Draco's face pinched with familiar panic.

"And you're right, I don't care. Not about you, Malfoy. So you can just sit here and cry about it like you did last night."

Harry had barely walked across the room when Draco's breathing seemed to hitch almost imperceptibly.

"Don't go. Please. I'm sorry, alright? I feel like shit…it's worse when you're gone, I don't know why. Just…don't go."

Harry stopped, considering. "Okay. I'll think about it…if you do something for me."

"Anything," Draco whispered.

"Tell me where Voldemort is hiding."

"You don't ask much, do you, Potter," Draco said bitterly.

"You said you'd do anything."

"I can't do the impossible." A tinge of desperation colored his voice.

Harry took a step back, then another, noting that with each step, Draco seemed to grow paler and paler.

"_Please_." Suddenly, to Harry's horror, Draco's eyes rolled back in his head, his body seizing and twitching as it had the night before.

"Shit!" Harry bounded across the room and onto the bed, draping his body over Draco's.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, rolling them both onto their sides, his arms wrapped tightly around Draco, who continued to convulse in his arms. He twitched for several more minutes until lying bonelessly within Harry's grasp. Harry gave a shuddering sigh of relief, resting his chin atop Draco's head.

"Potter?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing?" Draco tilted his head back slightly, scrutinizing Harry curiously.

"Nothing." Harry disentangled himself from Draco, quickly scooting to the other side of the bed.

Draco moved his gaze over Harry, a nasty leer twisting his expression. Harry, feeling his face coloring, hastily looked away.

"You liked that, didn't you, Potter?" Draco said softly. He moved closer to Harry. "Me, all helpless in your arms…turns you on, doesn't it?"

Harry snorted. "Yeah, dream on, Malfoy," he muttered, attempting to mask the shakiness in his voice.

"Tell me what you want, Potter," Draco said huskily, his face inches from Harry's.

"I don't know."

"What?"

"I don't know!"

Draco slid beside him, his breath hot against Harry's neck, and he licked Harry's ear. Harry shuddered, giving a small yelp and nearly falling off the edge of the bed.

"How about now?" Draco whispered into his ear.

"I want you to get the hell away from me, you freak." Harry bunched the covers over his lap, hoping Draco wouldn't notice just how much he _had_ enjoyed having his ear licked.

"You ever hear that actions speak louder than words, Potter? For example, if I were to do this…" he reached under the covers, rubbing against Harry's erection. Harry gave a strangled cry, and unable to help himself, thrust against Draco's hand.

Draco withdrew his hand, looking extremely satisfied. "I thought as much." Grabbing a fistful of Harry's hair, he tilted his head back roughly and began licking his neck. Harry groaned, leaning his head back further. Grabbing Draco's hand, he pushed it under the covers where it had been before.

Draco tssked. "My, aren't we pushy?" He rubbed a circle over the crotch of Harry's pants, then without warning, stopped completely.

"Don't stop," Harry panted.

Draco smirked. "Then tell me what you want."

"You!" he blurted. "You, okay? Just, don't stop…" Draco pushed him down on his back, straddling him. Reaching upwards, Harry pulled him down by the shoulders, kissing him desperately. Draco made a startled gasp, pulling away.

"Uh uh." Without preamble he traveled down the length of Harry's body, and before Harry's muddled brain could make sense of things, his pants were down and Draco was kneeling between his parted knees, taking him into his mouth.

Harry threw his head back, allowing sensation and pleasure to rule him completely. Somewhere, on some level, he knew what he was doing had to be wrong. After all, he hated Draco, and Draco hated him. Yet the more primal part of Harry didn't care, and as Draco's head continued to bob, and his mouth worked over him wetly, he had more and more trouble remembering that fact. And a moment later, as he came with a violent cry, it took all his willpower not to yell Draco's name.

Harry leaned his head back with closed eyes, breathing heavily. Finally, he sat up, reaching down to pull his pants back over his hips, seeing that Draco was watching him with a strange look.

"What the hell was that about?" Harry demanded.

"It was just an example, Potter."

"An example of what?"

"Of what I can do for you." He leaned against the headboard once again, calmly scrutinizing Harry with his grey eyes. "I'll do anything you want, Potter. Anything." He let the word hang in the air for a moment. Harry gulped, looking away.

"And in return, I'll expect you to do the same when the time comes."

Harry stared at him incredulously. "I can't promise anything like that. You know that, Malfoy."

Draco just smiled as if he hadn't heard him. "It is a shame about your girlfriend, you know," he said, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps my dear Aunt Bella was a little hasty in killing her…I mean, there must have been something extraordinary about her cunt, wasn't there? Since even the Boy Who Lived was willing to dip into that particular cesspool…"

Harry backhanded him, hard, across the mouth. Draco calmly wiped the blood off the side of his mouth, smiling at Harry.

"Temper, temper, Potter," he said softly.

"You really are a fuck, Malfoy," Harry said angrily. "I should have left you to burn to death two years ago, like your buddy, Crabbe."

Something indefinable passed fleetingly over Draco's face, but was gone before Harry could ponder on it.

"But you didn't, did you, Potter?"

"I should give you to the Ministry. I'm sure you've done plenty to warrant the Dementor's Kiss. In fact, I'd love to see it."

"Again, _should_. You won't give me to the Ministry. And you know why? Because this is where you've always wanted me, isn't it, Potter? You've always wanted me completely at your control…you probably used to jerk off just thinking about it, am I right?"

"You're sick, Malfoy. This is probably your dream. Whoring yourself out to me, getting hit around…gets you off, doesn't it?"

Draco just smirked, closing his eyes. Harry noticed that he did not look well, the sickly pallor of his skin reminding him of something about to die. Harry looked away, wishing he was able to shut off the pity which seemed to persistently cling to him like a bad cologne.

Catching Harry's eye, Draco raised his eyebrows. "Already thinking about what you're going to do next, Potter? I bet you have some odd kinks up your sleeve."

"Fuck off."

"If you insist."

"You're absolutely mental."

Draco shrugged. "Have it your way, then."

Harry rose resolutely out of bed. "You know what? I don't have to sit here and listen to you. So I'm going to go have some breakfast."

All pretense vanished instantly from Draco's face. "What about me?"

"What about you? The kitchen's downstairs. You can have at it."

Draco gulped noticeably, looking away. "I don't know if I…I mean…"

Harry shrugged, turning his back on Draco. "I'll see you down there, then," he said casually, walking away.

"Shit!" he heard Draco swear, accompanied by the sound of him rising from the bed. "Potter!"

Harry kept walking, remembering what had happened the last time he'd taken pity on Draco, just moments ago. Nonetheless, he walked more slowly than usual, hearing Draco's shuffling steps move haphazardly behind him, accompanied by ragged breathing.

"Potter!" Draco panted, once they'd reached the top of the stairs. He gripped the railing, looking very pale as he looked down. "Can't you please…I don't know if I can…"

"What, Malfoy?" Harry asked coldly. "The years of being a Death Eater finally coming back to bite you on the arse?" He stepped onto the first stair, looking at Draco defiantly.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Draco asked desperately. "I get it, you want me to bugger off and die. Well, at least be straightforward about it, instead of all this passive-aggressive shit. Don't be all nice one second, then back to being a prick the next…"

Harry laughed bitterly. "You really don't get it, do you? I hate you, Malfoy. I always have."

"You're so pathetic, Potter. Is that what this is all about? Something I did to you god-knows how many years ago?"

Harry shook his head. "You would think that, wouldn't you? Never mind that it was you who let Death Eaters into our school…"

"Are you honestly still on about that? I was sixteen, Potter, and I had no choice!" His eyes glittered maliciously. "I'm not even going to attempt to justify myself to you. Despite what you think, I'm not a Death Eater. I've never been a Death Eater, you idiot. Do you really think the Dark Lord would have granted that so-called honor to me, after I'd failed him so miserably?" Breathing heavily, he gripped the railing more fiercely, swaying slightly.

"If you're not a Death Eater," said Harry quietly. "Then where have you been for the last two years? And what were you doing with the Lestranges?"

"Nothing you'd believe, Potter," Draco said bitterly, leaning against the wall for support.

Harry stared at him for a moment, finally moving to his side with a sigh. He placed a hand on either side of Draco's shoulders, causing him to flinch.

"If you leaned on me for support, do you think you'd make it downstairs?"

"Probably," Draco muttered, looking at the floor. He raised his head, his stormy eyes meeting Harry's. "You're probably planning to let go halfway down," he said flatly. "To pay me back for the comment I made about your girlfriend."

Harry noted guiltily that the left side of Draco's mouth was swollen and encrusted with dried blood, while the skin around it darkened with a burgeoning bruise. For the last two years, Harry had felt as if he were on some hellish treadmill – he could walk, he could run, he could crawl on his hands on knees, because in the end it didn't matter – everything just continued to whirl back onto itself.

He pulled out his wand, noting that Draco shrunk back slightly, his eyes widening with fear. Harry sighed. He was such a bastard. He'd been so needlessly cruel, repented for it, and then did it again. And in enjoying it, it had made him no better than Voldemort.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Harry said quickly. "I want to heal your mouth."

Looking skeptical, Draco nodded, his eyes fixed warily on Harry. "Okay."

Harry muttered a series of healing charms, watching with satisfaction as the ugly bruise faded and the swollen lip receded. Harry thought briefly on how thoroughly satisfying it was to fix things rather than break them. Draco kept his eyes closed throughout the process, and upon completion, they fluttered open.

"Thanks." Draco rubbed his mouth reflexively, looking at Harry in wonderment.

"I shouldn't have hit you," Harry said quietly. "It was wrong of me, and it won't happen again."

Draco shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Whatever. Can we go eat now?"

* * *

Harry quickly learned, over the next couple of days, how very little tolerance Draco had to being away from Harry. He had thought, initially, when he had first brought Draco home with him, that perhaps it was simply an aversion to being alone in a weakened state, which was completely understandable. However, Harry soon learned of how deep a need it really was, and realized it was very likely a spell of some sort, a one-way spell which demanded close physical vicinity between the two of them. Through experimentation, he discovered that Draco could endure perhaps fifteen feet away from Harry before he'd be rocked with convulsions again. This distance, luckily, granted them each enough privacy to use the bathroom with the door closed, but little else. And, as Draco seemed to do more sleeping than anything else, there was little Harry could do other than stay confined to his room.

The first time that Draco had woken up, screaming and sobbing, Harry had lain there, frozen, and hadn't dared touch him. The next time, he'd reached over and shaken him gently. Draco had become silent immediately, awareness flooding back into his eyes like a light. Looking embarrassed, he'd mumbled an apology, and then rolled onto his side and back to sleep.

* * *

"Potter?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, staring sullenly at the ceiling. He was feeling particularly morose that day, as being confined to Grimmauld Place for the last two days was doing little for his mood. Outside wasn't faring much better – it was grey and rainy, as if even nature were conspiring to give Harry nothing interesting to look at. The solution, he knew, was simple. Turn Draco in to the Ministry, stick around long enough for the St. Mungo's healers to figure out how to rid him of his spell, and then Harry could leave him, guilt free.

Only he knew he couldn't. Whatever Draco might have done, Harry could no longer honestly say he deserved the Dementor's Kiss, or even Azkaban. The sorts of people who _did_ deserve it, Harry thought, were a different breed altogether. They didn't stare off into nothingness with sad, haunted eyes when they thought you weren't looking; they didn't wake up, screaming and crying as if something monstrous was tearing them apart.

"I'd really like to take a shower. Only…" He sounded embarrassed. "I'm not sure if I can stand that long…"

"You want me to help you," Harry stated.

"I hate to ask you," Draco said quietly.

"Why don't you just take a bath?" Harry immediately felt like a jerk for saying it. After all, Harry himself preferred showers to baths; why should he expect Draco to compromise?

"Right," Draco said, looking at his fingers. "I'll take a bath." He moved to pull himself out of bed, wincing slightly.

Harry crawled to his side, steadying him by the elbows, and together they both maneuvered off the bed.

Draco looked at him in surprise, but didn't pull away. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you."

Draco said nothing, allowing Harry to aid his movements into the bathroom. Once there, Harry sat Draco on the closed toilet lid and leaned over to turn on the faucet. Finding the right temperature, he switched on the shower, hoping his movements didn't betray his shaky hands.

He turned to see Draco watching him, an unreadable expression on his face. Harry gulped, feeling increasingly nervous. Although Draco hadn't persisted in his initial seduction of Harry – far from it, in fact, as he'd shown little more than a polite indifference ever since Harry had helped him down the stairs – Harry found himself thinking about it more and more, and in spite of the disgust he felt at himself, he couldn't help but remember Draco's offer. _Anything. _ He felt sick for even thinking it, as he knew that Draco wasn't well, and was obviously well enough aware of his dependency on Harry to resort to desperate tactics.

"Well, are you going to help me or what? Or do you plan to stare at me all night?" Draco asked, his voice low.

Harry removed his glasses, nervously wiping the steam from the lenses before pushing them back on his face.

"You can undress yourself, I take it?" he asked, intending to sound blasé, but sounding rather squeaky instead.

Draco shrugged, tugging his shirt off without a word. He stood to his feet, leaning on Harry for support, his lips nearly brushing Harry's neck. "Hold onto me for a moment, why don't you."

Harry nodded and did so, his arms encircling Draco. It was an intimate posture, and Harry willed his heartbeat to slow, as he was pressed against Draco. Draco was warm, surprisingly, as a short time ago Harry would have expected him to be cold and scaly, like a snake. But no – he was warm and pulsing with life, his heartbeat fluttering against Harry in a rhythm which felt both constant and familiar, like coming home.

"Umm, Potter…I can't really move like this…"

"Sorry!" Harry said quickly, backing away but keeping steadying hands on Draco's shoulders.

Draco smirked knowingly as he began unbuttoning his pants, pushing them off his hips. Along with his boxers. Harry kept his eyes trained, steadfast, on Draco's face, on his eyes. He'd always known they were grey, but upon closer inspection he saw that they were flecked with blues and golds as well. They were truly a mosaic of colors, and though he was loathe to call them beautiful, they were certainly fascinating.

"Do you just plan on standing here, Potter?" Draco asked, sounding slightly amused.

"Oh! No, er…I'll help you." He moved his hands down to Draco's elbows, holding them gently, as if Draco were a fragile piece of glass that might break at the slightest pressure. Draco leaned on him heavily as he stepped over the side of the bathtub and into the shower, keeping a hand on Harry's right shoulder to steady himself.

"If you could just stand like that, Potter," Draco said, sounding embarrassed again. "I'll try to be quick."

"Take your time," Harry said before thinking better of it, glad for the steam which served to obscure his blush. Draco acted as though he hadn't noticed Harry's fumble, leaning his head under the spray with a contented sigh.

Unable to help himself, Harry watched unabashedly as rivulets of water trickled down Draco's face, leaving his hair hanging in wet, ashy strings against his cheeks, continuing to trickle down his chest and stomach, and…lower.

Tearing his gaze back to Draco's face, Harry realized with a start that Draco had been watching him, his expression predatory.

"You like what you see, Potter?" he asked huskily. He ran his free hand down over his chest, brushing a nipple. Keeping his eyes glued to Harry's, he continued running his hand down past his ribcage, bumping over a hipbone, and then he was _there,_ and his excitement at the situation was apparent.

"Care to join me?" Draco asked, his eyes clouded with arousal. Harry knew what his answer should be: no, you're not well, it wouldn't be right, but couldn't find it in himself to voice the words. He nodded, undressing rather awkwardly, as Draco kept a hand on Harry to steady himself, and finally, stepped into the shower. He wrapped both arms around Draco as he had moments before, relishing it as he had then.

"Potter…" Now Draco sounded nervous, and as Harry ran a hand down his back, tracing his spine, he felt him shiver. He moved his hand lower, lingering over the small of his back, and cupping his buttocks, pulled his hips into his.

"Potter," Draco moaned into his neck, his erection meeting Harry's. Then, gripping the back of Draco's neck, Harry meshed his lips against Draco's. He felt Draco gasp and attempt to pull away, but Harry held his head, and with a shuddering sigh, Draco opened his mouth. Pushing him gently against the wall, Harry explored his mouth leisurely, sloppily even. Harry had never really perfected the art of finesse, yet Draco hardly seemed to care, making small mewing sounds as Harry ran his tongue over his lips and his teeth, tasting tea. He kissed the sides of Draco's mouth, he stroked down his chest, his ribs, his back; he lifted a leg to grind it between Draco's thighs. Draco shuddered, making incoherent sounds, his eyes squeezed shut. All the while the water pounded against them, dripping tear-like down their faces.

Harry brought his lips to Draco's neck, his tongue tracing and tasting him, his teeth scraping gently. Finally, he brought his free hand down to grip their twin erections, his fist moving urgently. Harry came first, as he'd been nearly ready to explode from the get-go, and he moaned into the curve of Draco's neck. Recovering quickly, he renewed his ministrations on Draco, and with a hot burst of liquid on Harry's hand and belly, accompanied by a panted, "Harry!", Draco was leaning heavily against Harry, breathing harshly.

"That's a hell of a way to get clean," Draco said jokingly, his breathing still erratic.

Harry looked at him in surprise, as he'd been expecting the usual snide comments, but perhaps with more sting. But instead, Draco was wrapping his wet arms around Harry, his chin resting on Harry's shoulder. Harry embraced him in turn, realizing he could never get tired of feeling Draco's skin beneath his hands. And perhaps that had been the idea, but Harry found he didn't really care.

* * *

Harry had always been a tactile person; he enjoyed touching and being touched, he enjoyed running his hands over a variety of items to feel the textures beneath them. He had learned at an early age to suppress this natural inclination, having broken one of Aunt Petunia's vases at age four and sent to his cupboard without dinner. But now, with Draco pliant beneath his hands, he not only relearned the marvels of touch, but also learned more than he'd ever thought possible about Draco Malfoy. For example: he learned that Draco often tilted his head to the left just before orgasm, that he had a mole directly above his right hip, and that certain places, such as between his fingers, toes, and the backs of his knees could make him giggle uncontrollably. He discovered that he could map the topography of Draco's body with his eyes shut; a raised scar here, and here, and here. He knew the precise places where a lick or a stroke could cause him to completely unravel, that could make him yell Harry's name without abandon, and he knew the exact science of touch, the right amount of pressure to cause such a reaction. He knew that if he pressed a slicked finger, just so, into Draco, that he could cause him to nearly sob with pleasure, and that if he positioned his hips and thrusts, he could recreate it.

These discoveries came to Harry over the course of the next week, and did much to allay the boredom which had assuaged him not so long ago. He sometimes wondered, guiltily, if Draco's various trysts with Harry were merely borne of desperation, as a sort of means to keep Harry interested enough to not abandon or turn him in. And indeed, some nights Draco woke up, gasping from some unknown horror, and almost apologetically would latch onto Harry's arm. There were many occasions in which Harry, on a steady precipice into sleep, would be jolted awake by Draco's roving arms, as if he needed to reassure himself that Harry hadn't left. Then he would sigh, his grip would slacken slightly, and before long, his breathing would go back to normal.

Harry knew, of course, that something had to be done about their situation. Obviously, he knew that he and Draco couldn't spend the rest of their lives confined to Grimmauld Place, much as he sometimes felt he'd like to. He didn't trust the Ministry, even as it had been restored to some order after Voldemort had disappeared, or anyone other than Ron and Hermione, in all honesty. And since Ron and Hermione were currently sun tanning/freckling at some beach in France (they'd invited Harry along, but he'd declined), he didn't know what else to do until they returned. So, he waited.

Harry could feel Draco watching him as he made lunch, and so he turned around, waggling his eyebrows at him. Draco rolled his eyes, directing his gaze back down to the book in his hands. Ever since Harry had helped Draco into the library, he was always reading something. Harry noticed, guiltily, that Draco had grown paler.

"I'm sorry you're stuck here all the time," Harry blurted.

Draco raised his head, looking at Harry strangely. He shrugged. "It is what it is, Potter." He turned the page.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco pursed his lips, looking annoyed. "It means, why do you care? You're obviously getting everything you want from this little arrangement."

His lunch preparations momentarily forgotten, Harry sat down heavily across from Draco, feeling the familiar guilt creeping over him.

"Oh, don't look like that, Potter," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "I didn't say I haven't been enjoying myself. As you're well aware, I have been. You're quite attentive in that regard, you know."

"But you aren't happy here."

"I didn't say that."

"Then, you are?"

Draco snorted. "I didn't say that, either. Look, Potter, I understand the way things work, alright? And as far as I'm concerned, staying here is much preferable to the Dementor's Kiss."

Harry reached for his hand, brushing against his knuckles. Draco sighed, closing his eyes. "Potter…"

"I would never do that, you know. Turn you in."

Draco sighed again. "That's funny, Potter," he said softly. "Just the other day you were saying I deserved it."

"That was before…"

"Before what? Before we started fucking? I hate to break it to you, but I'm the same person now as I was then. You still don't know anything about me."

Harry supposed that was true, at least in a practical sense. Yet he knew what his skin tasted like, knew the small sounds he made as Harry slid into him. And he knew that beneath the often prickly exterior there was something infinitely gentle, something irrepressibly sad. Harry knew these things, yet didn't know how to voice them.

"I want to know you. I want to know everything about you, Draco."

"Right. Just the other day you were saying how you should have left me to burn to death two years ago…obviously a great indicator…"

"Will you stop?" Harry snapped, frustration taking root. "I shouldn't have said those things, alright? I'm glad I saved you, and I was glad then! Leaving you there was never even an option, and that's back when I hated you! When I said it the other day it was only because of what you'd just said about Ginny…" he trailed off, feeling drained.

"I don't plan on just keeping you here forever, you know," Harry said quietly. "As soon as Hermione's back from France, I'm going to ask her for help. I wish there was another way, but I don't trust the Ministry."

"Funny, neither do I," Draco said wryly. He closed his book, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Are you okay?"

"Hmm. Yeah. You know how it is." He did look tired, Harry noted. Tired, and sad. Practically laying across the table, Harry cupped Draco's face within his hands and kissed him. Draco sighed against his mouth, his hands entwined around Harry's neck.

"Draco?" Harry whispered, resting his forehead to Draco's, his fingers stroking through his hair.

"Yes, Potter."

"Would you stay? If you had the choice, I mean."

Draco gently disentangled himself from out of Harry's grasp, staring silently at nothing in particular.

"Let's just finish lunch."

* * *

Draco's screams were particularly virulent that night, so much that they caused Harry to bolt upright in near panic.

"Draco!" Harry shook him. Draco's eyes flew open, and with a strange shudder, he curled against Harry and lowered his head against Harry's chest, melding to him like glue.

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco possessively. This was uncharted territory for sure, yet somehow he didn't feel awkward in the least. He simply said nothing, relishing Draco's closeness, the staccato rhythm of his heartbeat. Brushing Draco's pale hair out of his face, Harry heard his breath quicken.

"Potter?" he said tentatively, his breath stirring the wispy hairs on Harry's chest.

"Yeah."

"How important is it, to you, not to anybody else, that you destroy Voldemort completely?"

"I have to," Harry said quietly. "There was a prophesy – I'm the only one who can."

Draco was quiet for a long time, and for a moment Harry thought perhaps he'd gone to sleep.

"But what if…" Draco's voice sounded hoarse, almost as if he'd been crying. "What if he's so weak that he'll never pose a threat again? What if the cost of destroying him is more than you're willing to pay?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked softly. "I'll do anything."

"Would you?" Draco whispered and curled more tightly against him, pressing his lips in the hollow of Harry's throat. "Would you?" he let the question linger in the air, let it grow heavier and heavier as he pressed his mouth to Harry's.

This time, Harry let himself be explored and charted by Draco's eager hands, by his tongue. He allowed him to do things that he would probably have considered disgusting locker room fodder when he was fifteen, but in the intensity and heat of touch, felt so extremely right. Finally, his legs slung over Draco's shoulders as Draco moved on and inside him, he thought he might actually understand something pivotal, something he'd been trying to understand for years, but upon the culmination of his budding orgasm, he realized he could no longer remember.


End file.
